Free Steel and Stone by Ellen Porath Page A

back of the stage; her husband helped her maneuver a slit drum, made from cutting a narrow opening in a polished, hollow log, next to it. The couple’s older daughter set a gong in a stand next to the drums. The couple’s younger daughter plopped down and practiced trills on a flute while her brother warbled on a recorder. Tanis watched raptly.
    “You’re looking at the stage as though you’d like to be up there with them,” Kitiara teased, breaking into the half-elf’s reverie.
    Tanis indicated the family with a jerk of his head. “Music. That’s one difference between elves and humans.”
    When Kitiara raised her eyebrows, the half-elf went on. “In Qualinost, it’s assumed that every child will study an instrument. Often, at sunset, elves gather at the Hall of the Sky and hold impromptu concerts.”
    “So?” Kitiara demanded. “Humans like music, too.”
    Tanis frowned. “But humans see it as something only musicians do. I don’t know many humans who play their own music. They come to places like this.”He gestured. The courtyard was filling up. They’d taken spots on the ends of the benches—Kitiara disliked being trapped in the middle of a crowd—and onlookers kept shoving past them for the few seats remaining.
    “What do you play, half-elf?” Kitiara asked.
    “Psaltery, gittern …”
    “Which are what?”
    “The psaltery’s a type of dulcimer,” Tanis explained. “The gittern is like a guitar. I’ve tried other instruments, but I’m more enthusiastic than I am accomplished. Flint makes me practice outdoors.” He looked at Kitiara. “Do you play an instrument, Kit?”
    Kitiara’s upper lip curved. “The sword’s my instrument. But I can make it sing like nothing that pathetic crew can play.” She gestured at the stage, where the family was lightly chanting a lilting but apparently endless melody designed to warm up their voices. “And my sword’s a lot more effective against hobgoblins.”
    Kitiara’s discourse was interrupted by the woman, who stepped to the front of the platform and welcomed the crowd. Her voice was dusky and low. She looked back at her husband, positioned by the drums and gong, and at her children, ready with flute, recorder, and clavichord. Then she faced the audience again, opened her mouth, and sang,
    “There was a fair lady of old Daltigoth
,
    Was scorned by her lover, alone left to weep …”
    Her voice was as rich as spring earth, and the portly man next to Tanis shivered. “ ‘The Fair Lady of Daltigoth,’ ” the man said in an undertone. “I love that song.”
    The crowd settled down to listen. Dusk had given way to evening. Solinari was high in the sky above the courtyard, and Lunitari, the red moon, was beginning to rise. The torches focused attention on the stage, but the half-elf could see spectators leaving through arched doors to the inn’s tavern, then returning with foaming mugs of beer. Kitiara had also noticed, he saw. “Would you like some ale?” she asked.
    Tanis had barely nodded when the swordswoman was on her feet, moving toward the adjoining tavern. Suddenly her way was blocked by a muscular man with black hair, black eyes, and a set expression. He wore ebony breeches and boots, white shirt, and a scarlet cape, and he stood before Kitiara with an air of self-assurance. “Kitiara Uth Matar!” the man said quietly.
    “Caven Mackid.” Her tone was chilly. She didn’t introduce the man to Tanis, who’d risen silently from the bench and approached the two. A slender teen-ager with emerald green eyes sidled next to the half-elf, gazing on with interest.
    Caven looked neither to the right nor left. “You don’t take many straight lines in your travels, woman,” he said. “It took me a week to pick up your trail, and more than a month to track you here.” Caven seemed to notice Tanis for the first time. “Fortunately,” he said to the half-elf, raising his voice, “Kitiara is the kind of woman that people pay heed to as